


Behind the Mask, Between the Lies

by insominia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hunter Sam Winchester, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sam Winchester is So Done, Solo Hunter Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 01:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21467971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia
Summary: Unable to continue being 'just friends' with his best friend and longterm crush, Castiel is over the moon when it turns out Dean has been trying to hide the same feelings for just as long and is more than happy to go on a date with him. He just has to get his latest work conference out the way and then it's nothing but tuxedoes, masks and a lot of catching up on what they've been missing.But Castiel quickly discovers that Dean is not the man he thought he was, living a life that Castiel could never have imagined. Their friendship is surely left in tatters, to say nothing of their budding romance when it transpires that all this time Dean has been wearing a mask of a very different kind.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 23
Kudos: 87
Collections: Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Masquerade





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crawly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crawly/gifts).

> It's time for another PB! Gift Exchange! WHOOOO!
> 
> It has been great fun to write this piece for kellydean and I hope I've incorporated a fair few of the tropes you wanted into it, with a sprinkling of canon for good measure. Enjoy! 
> 
> Y'all should thank Lurlur who not only beta'd for me but managed to save this fic when my laptop decided to eat it a few days before posting. 
> 
> If you're over 18, you like Destiel AND writing/receiving fics, come hang out with us on the Profound Bond Discord server. We're a cool bunch!

* * *

* * *

With a final wipe of the cloth, Castiel Novak restored the glass to its gleaming state, having successfully removed all the smudges, grime and a couple of streaks he wasn’t sure he wanted to identify but had probably come from the hands of small children. Why people couldn’t just _say _what they wanted rather than press their fingers against the display case as though Castiel might somehow mistake their order of ‘chocolate fudge cake’ for any of the other non-chocolate pastries available. A crime apparently better avoided by dirtying the case than potentially repeating themselves. Still, he dropped the cloth behind the till and surveyed the counter with satisfaction. Not ten minutes ago the place had looked as though it had been the first stop for raiders desperate for supplies in the opening days of an apocalypse; otherwise known as the lunchtime rush. But now, the place was clean, the counters restocked, fresh coffee brewing and the tables had been cleared away and wiped down. No thanks at all to his brother who had been leaning against a counter behind the till since the last of the rush had last.

“You could at least pretend to help, Gabriel,” Castiel sighed, after double-checking that the few customers that remained were satisfied.

“Why?” Gabriel asked, not looking up from the letter he was holding in his hand, “Perks of owning the place, surely? Besides, I know you got it.”

“You still have to work, you know.”

“I work!” Gabriel insisted, “You’re just better at the customer side of things. I’m good at this bit.” He waved the letter in Castiel’s general direction as though it were possible for his brother to read the words at that distance, assuming he had any interest in doing so even if he could.

“Anything interesting?”

“Yup. Your tickets came.”

Gabriel held out an opened envelope that Castiel practically ripped from his hands, “_ Gabriel! _ How many times? Don’t read my mail!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Gabriel insisted, “C. Novak, G. Novak, they looked the same. It was an honest mistake,” he said, fluttering his eyelashes as if that could in any way placate his brother. “But hey, you got tickets, right? For that charity ball, right? The fancy thing...” he trailed off and Castiel huffed, waiting for whatever punchline his brother was working towards. “So...who’re you taking?”

“Taking?”

“You’ve got two tickets and you didn’t invite me, which I may never recover from, by the way, so...who’s the lucky guy?” Castiel flushed beet red, looking away quickly, which of course only fuelled that particular fire. “Is it happening? Are you going to ask him out?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

With a gasp worthy of several theatre productions, Gabriel breathed, excitedly, “Oh my God, you _ are, _aren’t you?!”

Castiel cleared his throat, awkwardly, “Yes.”

His brother did everything short of jumping up and down and applauding, “_Finally _!”

“There’s no need to exaggerate, Gabriel.”

“But I do it so well! Besides, you’ve been in love with each other for like forever.”

“Gabriel-”

“Oh don’t give me that, you don’t have to deal with that thing you both do with your eyes.” Castiel cocked an exasperated eyebrow, but Gabriel persisted. “What? I’m serious! All those looks and wistful sighs, seriously, how has it taken you this long to get down to it?”

Clearing his throat, again, Castiel shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “He might say no,” he mumbled, “There’s no guarantee-”

“_Seriously?!_” Gabriel snapped, but there was no malice there, “You’re already joined at the...you know...everything...of course he’s going to say yes. If you don’t believe me, here’s your chance to find out.” He gestured to the front door where the man in question was stepping in, wiping damp shoes on the welcome mat.

“Heya, Cas,” he called, with a sunny smile for the man behind the counter.

Castiel definitely did not flush at something as minor as a smile and definitely did not reach into one of the refrigerators for the slice of pie he’d stashed there earlier, ensuring that nobody else could see it and therefore order it before this moment.

“Hello, Dean.”

Beside him, Gabriel was grinning like a maniac, even when Castiel nudged him harshly in the ribs with his elbow.

“Hi Gabe,” Dean pulled out a chair at his usual table, already unpacking his satchel, “The usual?” He asked Castiel hesitantly, as though Castiel hadn’t started brewing his regular order the moment he’d stepped through the door. As though Castiel hadn’t been doing that for three years.

“Coming up, Dean,” Castiel said and was rewarded, as he always was, with the warmest of Dean’s smiles.

He set up the tray. Slice of pie, coffee in a mug featuring a pun that wasn’t really for customers (‘_My hot friend’s name is coffee _’) but amused Dean so Castiel made an exception, and then, after a few moments of hesitation and worrying his bottom lip, Castiel put the two tickets beside the pie. He stared at it all for a moment, debating whether or not to actually go through with it when he felt Gabriel’s hand, warm on his shoulder. His brother didn’t say anything, just gave him a reassuring squeeze, but it was enough. Gabriel wasn't a complete ass. Not all the time anyway. 

Castiel took a deep breath to steady himself. This was fine. He was fine. Everything was going to be fine. Dean Smith was his friend, his best friend, they’d done everything friends do and several things that friends definitely don’t do, but had managed to justify anyway. After all, who didn’t kiss under the mistletoe for a drunken dare? Who hadn’t kissed their best friend at the stroke of the new year? That time in the tent, when they’d clung to each other, spooning all night, that didn’t count as anything because it had been damned cold that night. Granted, there were the longing glances, the casual touches and whenever Dean went away for work, which was a lot, Castiel missed him more than he had any right to. From the way Dean would text constantly and call each night before turning in, Castiel could be forgiven for assuming Dean missed him too. Three nights ago things had changed. Sort of. For Castiel at least.

They’d gone out to see a movie and gotten some drinks afterwards. Too many drinks in hindsight. As usual, they’d gone back to Castiel’s flat which was generally closer to town than Dean’s place. As usual, Dean had grumbled about how lumpy Castiel’s couch was and Castiel had offered him the bed. As usual, they’d fallen on top of the bed, barely managing to make it under the covers after they’d clumsily stripped down to their boxers. As usual, Castiel woke up with Dean pressed to his back, though this time his arm was thrown across his chest, holding him close. And in a moment that was decidedly _not _ usual for them, Castiel had realised there and then that he never wanted to wake up without Dean’s arms around him if he could help it. It was hardly the first time Castiel had entertained the idea that his feelings for his best friend weren’t strictly platonic, but it was the first time he’d decided that he simply could not go on without doing something about it.

He’d seen the advert for the charity ball in the local paper at work the following day. A black-tie masquerade ball, something entirely unlike anything Dean and Castiel had ever done before so there could be no mistaking it for a normal night out. His hands trembled slightly, causing ripples on the surface of Dean’s coffee. As Castiel crossed the floor, Dean looked up at him and smiled, a smile that filled Castiel with warmth and his hands steadied. Mostly.

Dean’s lips broke into a wide grin when he saw the pie, “Is that the toffee apple? Man, you never have any of that left.”

Castiel quirked a smile, “I put some aside for you when it came in this morning.”

“Oh, Cas,” Dean said warmly as Castiel put the tray down in front of him, “What did I do to deserve you, huh?”

A thrill thrummed through Castiel and he found himself momentarily wishing that Dean would remember this in a moment when he reacted to the tickets. Dean removed the pie, the coffee and then his eyes fell on the tickets. He looked up at Cas and then back down, reaching for them almost hesitantly. “What’s this?” he asked, to no one in particular, before he let out a long, low whistle, “Wow, fancy gig. You tryin’ to tell me something?”

With a short breath, Castiel prepared to give the little speech he’d rehearsed.

_ ‘Dean, we’ve been friends for a long time and I value your friendship, but recently I’ve started to feel more for you than just friendship. You are, quite simply, the most wonderful man I’ve ever met and I would really love for you to accompany me to the masquerade ball this weekend as more than friends.’ _

Of course what actually blurted out of his mouth was a rather less impressive, “I’d like to go on a date with you.”

A small scoff of disbelief escaped Dean as Castiel clamped his hand over his mouth. “I mean- If...If you wanted to, I’d really like to take you to the gala this weekend...”

“As your date?” Dean asked, as though there could be any mistaking Castiel’s blunt intention.

Castiel nodded, aware that a red flush was creeping into his cheeks, but Dean only beamed at him, “Cas, I’d love to.”

“I’m sorry if this makes things awkward between us, but I couldn’t keep on being friends when I know that I want-” Castiel was saying, before Dean’s words actually caught up with him, “Wait...what did you say?”

“Cas, I’d love to go on a date with you,”

“Oh,” Castiel breathed, “_Oh _!”

Dean grinned up at him for a long time before he glanced at the tickets, the grin faltered and was swiftly replaced with a frown. The relief that had flooded Castiel choked a little. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh yeah, no, Cas it’s fine, it’s just I’m heading out for work again tomorrow...”

“You don’t think you’ll be back in time?” Castiel sighed.

“Oh no I’ll be back, I’m just wondering if I’ll have time to get my tux dry cleaned in the meantime.”

"Your...tux?" Castiel mouthed, the mental image momentarily short-circuiting his brain.

Dean took a sip of the coffee, licking his lips in a motion that Castiel certainly didn't track as close as his sight would allow. "Well, yeah, this is a fancy gig, gotta look my best," he added a wink for good measure and it was a miracle Castiel hadn't collapsed into a puddle on the floor. 

“Cassie, for God’s sake take your break and sit down!” Gabriel snapped from the counter and Castiel realised that he was still standing next to the table, wringing his hands nervously in front of his apron, even though Dean had said yes.

Dean’s eyes met his and they both laughed before Castiel tugged off the apron and slid into the seat opposite Dean.

“So, where have they got you going this time?”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Place called Baker City, Oregon,” he added when Castiel raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, I had to look it up too,” he smirked. Out of his satchel, he pulled a series of paper folders and slapped them down in front of Castiel, gesturing for him to read them. “This week I’m an expert on djinn.”

Castiel flicked through the pages, mostly print outs or photocopies, all annotated in Dean’s familiar hand. “I thought djinn were fire spirits,” Castiel murmured, turning a page over in his hand. In his hand was an image of a man engaged in a battle, presumably with a djinn. The man was clearly holding a spear of some kind, but Dean had put a cross through it and written, ‘_ silver knife – lamb’s blood _.’ Castiel chuckled, pausing when Dean looked up at him, questioningly. “Given that you spend your career in books you certainly make a point to know how to kill everything, especially that which doesn’t exist.”

“What can I say?” Dean shrugged, “I’m thorough.” He took a bite of the pie and let out an indecently satisfied groan, “Man, Cas, I’m glad you asked me out, this is so good I’m pretty sure I have to marry you now.”

“Maybe we’ll get through the first date first?” Castiel chuckled, sipping some of Dean’s coffee, knowing he wouldn’t mind. “You might find you hate me.”

“Cas,” Dean admonished, gently, “You know I-” he broke off, covering whatever he had been about to say with an awkward cough before he busied himself looking at the tickets, “I could never hate you.”

They were silent for a moment, an easy silence that spoke of how comfortable they already were with each other. “Hey,” Dean said, suddenly, “If I run my tux to the dry cleaners before I go, would you pick it up for me?

Warmth spread like light through every ounce of Castiel’s being to have such confirmation of Dean’s enthusiasm for their date, “I’d be happy to, Dean.”


	2. Chapter 2

That warmth stayed with Castiel for the rest of the week. Dean dropped his dry cleaning ticket at the coffee shop under the pretence of wanting a take-away for the journey. Castiel didn't even pretend to hide his smile, knowing that Dean had never dropped by on such a flimsy pretext before. His smile became fairly permanent when Dean’s fingers brushed against his as they passed the cup between each other and that was to say nothing of the bliss when, after a moment of indecision, Dean leaned in to kiss Castiel’s cheek before he said, ‘See ya, Cas,’ and ducked out of the shop.

Castiel couldn't stop smiling. Gabriel teased him relentlessly but he didn't care. Sometimes he was even grateful for it, especially when his brother brought him back from wherever he went when he stared into space, his fingers inevitably tracing the spot where Dean had kissed him. Never, in his wildest dreams, even in those where Dean accepted the date, had he thought to have this. Such easy and comfortable affection with so little effort.

Two days later he passed over the ticket scrawled with, ‘Dean Smith,’ and found himself humming under his breath when he realised that he was driving home having just picked up  _ Dean’s _ dry cleaning. It was so mundane, it was so domestic. It was wonderful. He made a point not to open the suit bag because he didn't need to pass the remaining three days in agony imagining how good Dean would look in it. His imagination was doing pretty well on its own in that regard. He'd seen Dean in several shades of suits over the years, but he'd never had cause to see him in a tux. The bag went on the back of the wardrobe and he couldn't help the way his eyes seemed drawn to it every time he passed it. 

Its presence made up for the fact that for the first time in all the years Cas has known Dean to go on a work trip, Dean had apparently decided to go incommunicado. Castiel received the standard message to say Dean had arrived with a few additional observations regarding the state of the minibar (or lack of it). He complained a little about having to stay in such a cheap motel while working, already missing his mattress. Dean loved his memory foam. There was a good night message and a shyly added, _‘I’m really glad you asked me, by the way, Cas :-)_’ that had Castiel grinning even more than he had all week if such a thing were possible. Castiel managed to stop himself sending something equally sappy back and instead shot off a reminder for Dean to keep his face clean for their date. Literally. Dean had a tendency to return with more cuts and bruises than one would expect from a Theology and Mythology conference, but then Dean would swear blind that the academics are jerks and he has a notoriously short temper. 

But after that relatively minor exchange, there was nothing. 

There were no more scathing observations about the state of the motel, no mention of the research he'd been working on, nothing. Dean’s silence was jarring and Castiel realised that it was probably the first time in a long, long time that they’d gone forty-eight hours without speaking in some way. Even if it was just a stupid meme or a picture one of them had taken because they just  _ had _ to show the other. 

The day before the masquerade ball, Castiel sent him a text, asking what time he was planning on getting back and if Dean wanted to drive them, seeing as he makes a point of refusing to be seen in Castiel’s Lincoln Continental. By the time he turned in for bed, he hadn't received a response and there was no denying how uneasy it made him feel. He forced himself to think positive, Dean had been known to drive through the night if he had to. He might have overrun at the conference. His phone had probably died, he notoriously never kept a spare charger in his car even though he always needed one. It was likely an elaborate gesture, Dean speeding overnight to arrive in the morning with a cup of coffee and a cheeky grin. 

When morning came, Castiel's eyes barely had the time to flicker open before he reached for his phone, his entire being sagging when he saw that there were  _ still _ no new messages. Even if it were not out of character for Dean in the first place, the silence was becoming a bit much. They had a date planned after all. Dean could have at least told him if he'd changed his mind. Had he changed his mind? His finger hovered over the 'call' button for way too long before he finally bit the bullet and pressed it. Relief flooded through him when he heard the, 'hi' from the other end, only to leave him light-headed when he realised it was the recording of Dean's voicemail, 'this is Dean. Leave a message.'

Castiel left a message. 

He left several. Plus a dozen texts, but he didn't care that he looked needy at best, desperate at worst, but it really wasn't like Dean to go radio silent for long. 

Castiel got himself ready for the ball, moving Dean's suit from the wardrobe and pairing it with the mask he'd picked up knowing Dean wouldn't have had the time to get one for himself. Any minute now, Dean was going to hammer on the door to Cas' apartment and swagger in, laughing about how terrible his phone coverage was, how he'd kill for a beer and how Cas better be ready because after Dean grabbed a quick shower they'd head straight out. 

Or at least, that’s what Castiel believed as he changed into his own tuxedo, pausing to give his dress shoes a quick shine even though he had already polished them once that week. He believed it as he poured himself a glass of champagne, already imagining Dean complaining that Cas had gone and started without him. He believed it right up until the clock ticked to one minute past seven, announcing that the doors to the ball had opened and Castiel was not going.

For the longest time, he sat in the quiet room, swirling the dregs of champagne around the glass. He had no intention of drinking them, dramatically wondering if he would ever have anything to celebrate ever again. A part of him knew he was being ridiculous. Something had obviously come up and Dean would show up at some point, hopelessly apologetic and offering to take Castiel out to make up for it. A smaller part, quiet and nowhere near as insistent suggested that Dean was in trouble, he must be, why else would he disappear so abruptly? But the worries were drowned out by the louder, the  _ much  _ louder part, telling him that Dean had never been interested. That Dean had only ever wanted to be friends and Castiel had ruined it by revealing his feelings. Now Dean had no intention of speaking to him again. The kiss to the cheek, the tuxedo, these were just uncharacteristically elaborate things Dean had thrown out to deflect the awkwardness he had obviously felt.

It was only when sunlight started to seep through the curtains Castiel had drawn before  _ not _ heading out that he realised the entire night had passed him by and he still hadn’t moved. He was still sitting with the champagne glass in his hand, still dressed in his finest, with still not a word from Dean.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel’s phone did not make a sound until the Monday morning, but even as it buzzed against the surface of the table he knew it wasn’t Dean. It was a testament to how ridiculously broken he felt that it didn’t stir a single emotion within him. Not even the thought of Dean could stir him and he wasn’t surprised in the slightest to have it confirmed that it was, as he’d thought, not Dean calling. Gabriel’s name flashed across the screen and Castiel rejected the call, only to receive a text a moment later asking how his weekend had gone, complete with several inappropriate emojis. Usually, Castiel would roll his eyes but he felt too numb to even do that so he shot off a reply saying he was taking a few days off sick and he’d call when he felt better. He silenced the phone and threw it down somewhere on the sofa, forcing himself to move.

It felt strange that only seven days ago Castiel had been so happy. He’d asked the question, Dean had agreed, he’d been so insanely happy...and now...

He had come to the conclusion that one of two things had happened. The first was that Dean hadn’t wanted to go on the date and decided to go about getting out of it in this rather roundabout and hurtful manner. The second and the one that was looking more likely the more Castiel thought about it was that something had happened to Dean. Neither were particularly desirable outcomes but given the choice, Castiel would prefer to have been ditched than Dean be hurt somehow.

It was funny how a night’s sleep, instead of moping on the sofa in the early hours of the morning having drunk too much champagne could change one’s priorities. There was, of course, the chance that Dean had changed his mind but then, why wouldn’t he have just said so? If he hadn’t been interested he would have said, ‘no,’ and that would have been that. It might have been awkward and they might have needed a few conversations about where to go from there, but wasn’t as though Dean had been a minor acquaintance, they were the best of friends. He wouldn’t have just cut himself out of Castiel’s life like this.

Naturally, the more Castiel realised how unreasonable it had been to think the worst of Dean, (though he could be forgiven given how much he’d been looking forward to actually going on a date with him) the more guilt he felt that Dean might be in trouble and instead of helping, Castiel had been moping over the idea that he’d been dumped before they’d had a chance to get anywhere. Which was why he’d decided to go straight to the college where Dean worked and ask them if they had any information. But, because he couldn’t entirely dismiss the idea that actually Dean just didn’t want anything to do with him, he took the tuxedo with him. That way, if nothing else, he’d have the excuse of returning it.

It occurred to Castiel, as he parked in the visitor’s parking lot, that he had never actually been to Dean’s place of work before. It seemed strange to look up at the place where his best friend spent so much of his time and have it so unfamiliar to him. But then, one of the things Dean loved about his job was that he could do so much of it from home. Or at least, from a coffee shop with excellent Wi-Fi. Besides, the college itself had Dean heading to some conference or other at least every other week so Castiel had never had cause to come here before. As he headed in he quickly stole a glance over at the staff parking lot but Dean’s Impala was nowhere to be seen. Somehow it’s absence only served to reassure and worry Castiel at the same time.

The receptionist greeted Castiel with a friendly, customer-service sanctioned smile. “Hi there. How can I help you today?”

“Hello, I’m friends with one of the researchers here, Dean Smith, and I haven’t heard from him in a few days, to tell you the truth I’m starting to get a little worried,” Castiel rambled, he hadn’t intended to just blurt it out but he was doomed the moment he opened his mouth. It was only when he heard his own voice that he realised, truly realised that for whatever reason Dean had disappeared and panic gripped him. “Did he get back from the conference okay?”

The woman’s smile faltered and there was no hint of insincerity when she asked, “Who?”

Right, of course, Castiel mentally berated himself. The college was hardly small and Dean was hardly going to be the only researcher, there were probably several in each department. That said, Castiel thought, Dean had never mentioned working with anyone else. In fact, Castiel frowned, he couldn’t recall a single time Dean had mentioned co-workers. 

“Sorry. Smith. Dean Smith. He’s a researcher with the Theology department, though he overlaps with Classics sometimes...anyway, the college sent him on a conference last week and I haven’t heard from him since.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know a Dean Smith,” she said, slowly, checking something on her computer, but whatever it was came up blank for her. She considered Castiel for a moment before smiling, “I’ll get the Head of Theology for you, she’ll be able to help you, I can’t keep track of everyone here.”

“He’s worked here for about six years?” Castiel offered, as though that might jog her memory.

If anything it only seemed to confuse her further. “I’ll just make that call.”

The Head of Theology was a smart woman in every sense of the word. From the handshake alone Castiel knew that she was going to deal with him sincerely, which is why it was so distressing to hear her say, “I’m sorry, we don’t have a Dean Smith working for us.”

Castiel stared at her for a moment, but she didn’t take it amiss, waiting patiently for him to continue. “I don’t understand,” he said, eventually, “This is where he works. He’s a researcher here, you send him on conferences. He went on a conference last week, he was presenting something about djinn to a gathering in Oregon.”

She held her hands up, in the universal gesture of ‘I don’t know what to say’, before she said, “Listen, I’ve been head of this department for ten years and we’ve never had a guy called Dean Smith working for us and I certainly didn’t send him to Oregon last week. Sorry.”

In a last-ditch attempt, Castiel reached into his phone and held it up to her, “So...you don’t know this man?”

He unlocked the screen to show a photograph of himself and Dean. It had been taken just a few months ago, the two of them modelling cowboy hats, something Dean did very well it turned out. Obviously, there had been some mistake but she would recognise Dean and everything would get cleared up. But the woman just shook her head, “I’m sorry, I’ve never seen that man before in my life. Not here or anywhere else.”

Castiel couldn’t rightly remember getting out of the college. He drove around for a while but he wasn’t paying any particular attention to where he was going. His mind was reeling. Of all the possibilities Castiel had entertained regarding Dean’s disappearance...this had not factored into any of them. Dean had never worked at the college. What was he supposed to think of that? And where the hell  _ was _ Dean? There was a gnawing feeling in his gut, he couldn’t shake it.

Castiel phoned the hospital nearest Baker City, but nobody by the name of Dean Smith had been admitted. He’d called the local sheriff but no Dean Smith had been arrested or involved in any incidents. While the sheriff double-checked, Castiel scrubbed a hand over his face. What the hell was he doing? Dean had lied to him, and this wasn’t just a lie to get out of going on a date, Dean had been lying to him since the day they’d met when Castiel was just a guy who brought him coffee. And yet...he was still worried. Even more so now it seemed, given that  _ apparently _ he didn’t know his best friend at all.

“Sorry about that,” the sheriff rasped into the phone, “But nope, we haven’t got anything on a Dean Smith.”

“Alright,” Castiel sighed, “Thank you for-” a moment of inspired clarity hit him, “Wait...has there been anything involving a 1967 Chevrolet Impala?”

The sheriff paused for a moment, “I’ll have to check, you got a number I can get back to you on?” Castiel gave the man his number and fell back against his seat. He had half a dozen messages from his brother but he wasn’t particularly interested in returning those calls right now. He wasn’t sure what he’d say anyway.

‘ _ Hey, Gabriel. No, Dean didn’t show for our date. He hasn’t shown up anywhere in fact and his place of work hasn’t ever heard of him.’ _

Gabriel would only ask questions. Questions Castiel didn’t have the answer to. Maybe that’s why he ended up driving to Dean’s house. That was something solid. Something real. Whatever Dean had lied about, the house was real. He held onto that thought right up until he saw an unfamiliar car parked in Dean’s driveway.

No.

_ No _ .

There was no way. Pretending to work somewhere he didn’t was one thing, pretending to own a house, that was something else entirely. Castiel had  _ been _ there, he woke up there a couple of times a week at least. He’d looked after Dean for whole days there while he was sick. There was no way that wasn’t Dean’s house.

But the man who answered the door wasn’t Dean either. He was much taller for a start with longer hair that fell into his eyes even as he brushed it back with one hand.

“Yeah?” he asked, with a distinct air of impatience.

“I’m looking for Dean?” Castiel asked and in his first stroke of luck for days the man didn’t deny Dean’s existence.

Castiel had been fully expecting him to say there was no Dean living there and never had been. Instead, he sighed, “Yeah, you and me both.”

He opened the door further and let Castiel follow him in. The place was exactly how Castiel remembered it, a small, paranoid part of him had expected to find it completely different as though Dean had never been there at all. But the ratty furniture was still there, the empty beer bottles that he never quite got around to clearing away still lined the mantlepiece, the jacket that Castiel had left there last time was still hanging on the door.

He steadied himself against the sofa, breathing deeply, inhaling the scent of leather, motor oil, stale whiskey and fresh pie that permeated Dean’s presence.

“Hey,” the man said, “So, when was the last time you heard from Dean?”

Castiel checked his phone even though he could have quoted the message and the exact time he had received it from memory alone. “Friday evening.”

“Dammit,” the man sighed, “Me too.” The man looked over at him for a moment, “You’re...you’re Cas, right?”

Castiel arched an eyebrow in surprise, “You know me?”

The guy gave a small scoff, “Dean talks about you...a lot.”

“He does visit the coffee shop frequently.”

“Yeah he doesn’t talk about the coffee,” he smirked, “Sam Winchester,” he held out his hand though he looked a little put out when Castiel didn’t seem to recognise him. “Sam?” He tried again, “Dean’s brother?”

“Oh!” Castiel breathed, “Yes, of course, Sam. Dean talks about you all the time. My apologies I didn’t realise you had different surnames.”

Sam frowned, “What do you mean?”

“You being a Winchester and him being Smith. It threw me for a second.”

“Dean’s name is-” Sam took his hand back abruptly, but he stopped himself before he finished his thought, “Anyway-”

But his point had already clicked in Castiel’s mind. “Dean’s name isn’t Smith is it?” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose because of course, Dean was living under an alias.  _ Of course, _ he was. Why wouldn’t he? It was, after all, such a  _ normal _ thing to do, along with lying about his job all this time. Castiel had phoned all those emergency rooms and hadn’t even known the name of the guy he was looking for. “Wonderful,” he groaned, “Perfect.”

“Listen, I’m sure you’re pissed at my brother and you’ve probably got every right to be but for what it’s worth, he really does consider you his best friend,” Sam was saying, but Castiel only scoffed, “No, I’m serious, he does. I know he’ll have had his reasons for...bending the truth a little...but,” Sam held his hands out in a gesture of defeat, “Look, man, my brother’s in trouble and I have to find him, so even if you’re mad if there’s anything you know that could help me out, I’d appreciate it.”

“How would I know anything?” Castiel snapped, causing Sam to take a step back, defensively, “I thought Dean was my friend but it turns out I didn’t know anything about him, I don’t even know his name-” The trilling of his phone interrupted what would have no doubt been a very impressive tirade and he practically growled with frustration as he pulled it from his pocket. “Excuse me,” he said to Sam, answering the phone, forcing the momentum to leave him so he didn’t take out his frustrations on the caller. He listened to what was said, half an eye on Sam all the time as he rustled through Dean’s mail as though there might be a clue there. He thanked the man on the other end and hung up, composing himself for a moment.

He could walk away. He could tell Sam what he knew and walk away and never have to worry about Dean Smi- Dean whatever-his-name-was again. But Castiel knew he wasn’t going to. Not if Dean was in trouble, which from the sounds of things he really was. Sam looked up at him, realising he’d gotten off the phone, “Everything okay?”

No. Not really, Castiel thought, worrying his lip with his teeth.

He could walk away.

“I think I know where he is,” Castiel said, hesitantly and Sam practically dropped the letters in his hands as he stepped forward.

“You do? Where?”

“I want to come with you,” he said, quickly, “I don’t know what’s going on with Dean but...I thought he was my friend...I thought he was more than my friend,” he added as an afterthought, “and if he’s in trouble I want to help. So if I tell you, I’m coming with you.”

Sam’s face fell and he folded his arms, “Cas, man, listen...there’s stuff about Dean...stuff he obviously doesn’t want you to know, stuff you probably shouldn’t know-”

“I’m coming with you, Sam,” Castiel said, firmly.

Sam thought about it for a moment, Castiel could see the processes working themselves out behind his eyes before he threw his hands up and said, “Alright. Sure...” He looked around them for nothing in particular. “You okay taking my car?”

“Yes. But we’ll have to split the driving.”

“Split the driving? Where the hell are we going?”

Castiel held his phone up, “That was the sheriff for Baker City, Oregon. Dean’s car was picked up yesterday outside a factory, it’d been there for days...”

He trailed off but he didn’t need to finish the thought as Sam’s expression of horror did it for him. Dean had lied to Castiel about many things and there were things he wasn’t completely certain of. But one thing he would have bet his life on is that Dean would die before he abandoned his Baby.


	4. Chapter 4

Even though they were taking Sam’s car, Castiel had insisted on being the first to drive. It would give him something else to focus on. If he was driving at least he could occupy himself with speed limits and traffic signals, on where he was going, instead of what else Dean might have lied about. Why had he lied at all? Just...why?

Sam was beside him in the passenger seat, but neither of them had said a word to each other. Castiel was stewing, silently fuming and Sam seemed to not only know it but sympathise with him, leaving him to turn his thoughts over rather than make idle conversation. At one point Castiel gestured that he wanted the radio on, but when he flicked it on he was met with a mournful country singer strumming an acoustic guitar, singing about how ‘ _ he _ ’ was not the man she thought, bemoaning the revelation that he’d lied…

Castiel turned it off with a sharp jab of his thumb. Sam glanced up but didn’t say anything and they returned to silence which saw them through the next few miles.

“The hell was he doing in Oregon, anyway?” Sam asked, suddenly, as though he finishing a conversation he had been having in his head.

“Don’t ask me,” Castiel scoffed, sounding a little harsher than he’d intended, “I’m surprised he even bothered to tell me where he was going at all given how everything I know of him is a lie.” He breathed out a long, ragged breath. “My apologies, Sam. I am... _ annoyed _ .”

Beside him, Sam smirked, “Dude, I get it. My brother’s an ass. Why were you at his house if you knew he was in Oregon?” he asked, lightly, but there was no hint of mockery there, only genuine curiosity.

“I’d just come from the college he doesn’t work at. He told me he’d be at a classical research conference in Baker City, Oregon, but given that the college had never heard of him I’d assumed it to be a lie.”

Sam laughed and when Castiel glanced over he held up a finger in a gesture of wait, while he tried to get himself under control. “Sorry, just...classical research?”

Castiel bristled, “Yes well, I was under the impression that he researched a variety of mythological and theological subjects and he would be presenting a discussion on the djinn in Oregon.”

“Djinn?” Sam said, almost thoughtfully.

“A fortnight ago he was in Oklahoma talking about witches, and before that South Dakota for demons...”

Sam had stopped laughing and was instead looking at Castiel with a strange expression on his face.

“What?”

But Sam ignored him, reaching for his phone and scrolling through something, “Before that, was he in Ohio,” he asked, “for ghouls?”

Castiel took his eyes off the road for a moment to shoot Sam a confused look, “Yes...but... his job isn’t real...how would you know that?”

Again, Sam didn’t answer, instead, he brought the phone to his ear, drumming his fingers impatiently against his leg. “Bobby?” he said into the phone a beat later, “Yeah we’re heading down there now, listen, do me a favour. Can you check if there’s anything in...where is it, Cas?” he asked.

“Baker City?”

“Baker City, Oregon. Yeah. Have a look...” Sam went quiet for a long time, though the phone was still connected. He held it to his ear for a while before either his arm tired or he got bored and he put the phone on the dashboard, tapping the speaker button as he did so. Castiel glanced at him in surprise but it soon became clear he wasn’t listening in on a particularly private conversation. The muffled sounds of a keyboard tapping and paper rustling came through the tinny speakers before a gruff voice rasped, “Got something,” and Sam leaned forward.

“Is it a djinn?”

“Could be from what I’m looking at, you think Dean went after it?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, “Yeah I think he did, Bobby. I’ll be in touch.” He cut off the call and looked at Cas thoughtfully. “Huh,” he said, after a while, though he didn’t elaborate. There was another silence before he said again, “ _ huh _ ,” as though to affirm the sentiment. “Dean told you what he was doing after all.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel sighed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sam stretched out in the seat, “Alright, here goes. We call this the talk. I’ll give you the quick version, you can ask questions but try not to crash the car okay?”

Castiel gave him a curious look, wondering what on earth he could be about to learn that would shock him enough to lose control of the vehicle. And then Sam told him who Dean Smith  _ really _ was and what he  _ really _ did.

Castiel almost crashed the car.

They swapped seats a few minutes later so Castiel could get a handle on what was being said.

“It’s not possible,” he kept saying under his breath, but Sam was relentless.

Eventually, long after Sam had stopped talking and the two had sat in silence for a long, _ long _ time, the only words exchanged to order a snack at a drive-through, Castiel took a breath and spoke.

“So. You’re saying that monsters exist and you and Dean hunt them.”

“In a nutshell, yeah.”

“And you think that on this occasion he’s run into trouble hunting a djinn?”

“Looks that way.” Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, “He’s supposed to let me know where he is so if it goes sideways I don’t have to-” he gestures to the space around them, “do all this. He should have told me.”

“Why didn’t he?” Castiel asks, in what feels like the only normal question of the day.

Sam scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Because Dean Winchester thinks he’s invincible and sometimes he forgets to let me know if he thinks he’s on a milk run.”

“A milk run?”

“Oh, yeah...a job that isn’t going to take too long or is really easy...y’know like a standard salt and burn,” he cast a glance over at Cas, “That’s how you deal with ghosts, in theory, it’s pretty simple. ‘Course it’s never that simple and now Dean’s in trouble and I’ve lost time finding him because  _ he _ thought it’d be fine.”

What Sam had told him was unbelievable, beyond unbelievable even though parts of it made sense. At least now there was an explanation why Dean seemed to return from conferences with way more injuries than one would expect could be gained talking to academics. It explained the unusual things that Dean researched, it certainly explained why he always made a point of knowing how to kill something that couldn’t possibly exist. But even then, it was all too much to accept.  _ Until _ Sam had gotten annoyed with his brother, the kind of annoyed that only siblings could be. Dean could be dead but right now Sam was just pissed he hadn’t told him where he was going. Like all those times Castiel had been pissed at Gabriel whenever he’d just disappeared off the face of the earth. It was...comforting, in a macabre way. And somehow that allowed Castiel to accept what he’d been told.

As much as one could accept it anyway.

Sam didn’t offer anything beyond what he had said, though he answered any and all questions Castiel had. As far as he could at any rate. He deliberately avoided any mention of Dean specifically, without saying it he made it clear that that was a conversation Castiel would have to have with his brother. When they found him.

Sam was adamant they’d find him.

Which was why it surprised Castiel when they stopped.

The grotty motel was not the kind of place Castiel would normally patronise, but Sam didn’t bat an eyelid at the faded sign, the broken ice machine or the gun that the guy at the counter kept visible behind the desk.

“Two queens,” Sam said, slipping his card over towards the man with the air of someone well used to this kind of thing. Castiel raised an eyebrow when he saw that the name on the card wasn’t, ‘S. Winchester,’ but he didn’t say anything. Nor did he say anything when they stepped into a room that was blissfully cleaner than the exterior had led them to believe. Not that it was particularly impressive, but there were two beds, the linen had at least been washed and the room didn’t smell too badly of stale cigarettes. Sam wasted no time in kicking his shoes off and throwing himself down on the closest bed.

“It’s only a few more hours ‘til Oregon, right?” he asked, not waiting for Castiel to nod before he continued, “I’m no use to Dean fuelled by caffeine and car naps, just let me get a few hours, okay? Unlike my brother, I know my limits. And if there’s a djinn out there that got a drop on Dean then I’m not gonna stand a chance if I don’t rest up.” It seemed like he was talking more to himself than to Castiel, so Castiel didn’t interrupt. Sam rolled over but paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Hey, Cas? I know you’re pissed at my brother, okay, that he lied and everything but...in this line of work you don’t really meet people and he probably thought you’d think he was crazy if he told you the truth...” Sam trailed off and Castiel scoffed, but it was soft, he would have definitely thought Dean was crazy if he’d told him the truth. “But...in a weird way he did tell you where he was going and what he was doing and that’s more than what most people would get.” He pulled the blanket over him, “You should get some rest too.”

Castiel nodded, shucking his trench coat off and laying down on the bed. Sam was already asleep, which would have surprised him if it weren’t probably an occupational skill to take sleep where you could. Sleep was not forthcoming for Castiel. He stared up at the ceiling turning everything he knew about Dean over in his mind. Everything he didn’t know about Dean. He was worried. Angry too, confused, sad and he’d probably punch Dean when he saw him, but mostly, he was worried. Dean could be in trouble,  _ real _ trouble, the kind that Castiel couldn’t have imagined just a few short hours ago and now…

He reached over the nightstand and took his phone back, calling up the internet which, he noticed, wasn’t secured. He typed ‘Dean Winchester’ into the search bar and wasn’t entirely surprised when more than a dozen newspaper articles from different local papers showed up. Castiel clicked on the first one, ‘ _ Vandal eludes capture after robbing the grave he desecrated _ .’ A grainy mugshot of Dean, definitely his Dean- well the Dean he knew at least, stared back at him and with a sigh, Castiel read on.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel had hardly been the most talkative of companions during their drive up, but when they left the motel he’d fallen into almost complete silence. Sam ordered them breakfast at another drive-through, but Castiel didn’t say anything in thanks, he barely acknowledged what he was eating. Sam didn’t push it, for which he was grateful.

He had read article after article until his eyes couldn’t focus on the words anymore. He had, however, learned a lot about Dean  _ Winchester _ and his impressive list of criminal offences. Credit card fraud, mail fraud, breaking and entering, burglary, tax evasion, vandalism, desecration, posing as a federal agent, posing as an officer of the law, posing as a member of the clergy and for some reason he was wanted for carrying wire cutters in his back pocket in Texas. For the most part, the articles matched the dates Dean had been away, though there were far fewer articles than Castiel had expected given how often it was that Dean travelled, he assumed that was because he was so good at his work. Even so, with every word read, Castiel could feel Dean,  _ his _ Dean, slipping away from him.

As an emotion anger was hot. Castiel should have been angry. He should have been burning with it, but instead, he was cold. Numb. Dean had been his best friend and Castiel had wanted more. If he had been in any doubt as to his feelings towards Dean, the ice-cold numbness that sliced through him, deeply, confirmed them. He’d known it was more than friendship,  _ just friends _ didn’t look at each other the way Dean and Castiel looked at each other.  _ Just friends _ didn’t find excuses to lean into each other the way Dean and Castiel did. Hell, hadn’t Castiel asked Dean out because he was tired of pretending they were  _ just friends _ ? And Dean had said yes, presumably because Dean was tired of the same.

And now it transpired that not only had Castiel been mistaken in this assumption, but had been mistaken in thinking he knew Dean at all. It wasn’t even as though Dean had been living a secret life, Castiel  _ had been _ the secret life. It hurt. It hurt deeper than any hurt Castiel had ever experienced. There was still the worry that something had happened to Dean, however much the logical part of his brain, that was somehow still functioning, told him that he owed him nothing. But Castiel was here now. He would find Dean, help him if he could and then...and then he’d go back to his normal life without monsters...without Dean.

“Hey,” Sam called to him, softly, drawing him out of the reverie he’d been lost in, “We’re almost at the place, you wanna take over driving and I’ll find out where we’re going?”

“How are you going to do that?” Castiel asked as Sam pulled over, but he soon came to regret asking.

Castiel had barely started driving when Sam pulled out his phone and as casually as he’d paid for their motel with a fraudulent credit card he introduced himself to the local sheriff as Agent Nicks of the FBI. Forcing his hands to remain steady on the wheel, Castiel listened in with something between horror and awe as Sam asked some questions about an Impala they’d picked up outside a factory.

“Thanks very much,” Sam said, finally and hung up, “the factory’s just outside the city,” he said, with certainty. Castiel gave a snort that sounded like disapproval, which only seemed to make Sam laugh. “You okay there, Cas?”

“You pretended to be a federal officer. You know that’s a crime?”

Sam laughed again, “Oh man, Cas, believe me, if I get caught that’s going to be the least of my worries.

Somehow that did little to reassure Castiel.

The thought struck him, interrupting anything else he might have said. “Sam...how are we going to kill this thing? Dean’s notes said we needed a silver blade and blood...”

“Lamb’s blood,” Sam replied, casually, “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got everything we need in the trunk.”

Somehow that did even less to reassure Castiel.

The sight of what was in the trunk assured him even less. They had pulled up outside a massive factory, paying no attention whatsoever to the ‘no trespassing’ signs that littered the broken barriers. Initially, when Sam opened the trunk it looked like a normal car, right up until he flicked a switch and then it became the least normal thing Castiel had ever seen. There were weapons he didn’t even recognise attached to the underside of the trunk’s shelves, because there were shelves now, extending from the interior. Knives, guns, stakes, swords, several types of crucifixes for some reason…

“This is...” Castiel started but trailed off, there were hardly words to describe it.

“Yeah,” Sam shrugged, “I know.” He reached for one of the blades and flipped open a small wooden box filled with vials. He pulled out a couple and checked the labels before he found the one he wanted.

“Is that-”

“Lamb’s blood,” Sam muttered, tipping the vial over the blade, hardly caring that the excess dripped off leaving an ominous-looking puddle on the ground.

“And you just happen to have some with you?”

“Yup, never know when it’ll come in handy.” He tapped the final drops off the blade and looked up at the factory. “Okay, you wait here, I’ll go find Dean.”

Castiel’s hand shot out, grabbing Sam’s arm with far greater force than he’d intended, “I’m coming with you.”

“Listen, there’s a djinn in there okay and I can’t get Dean out if I’m worrying about keeping you safe.”

“You worry about the djinn and I’ll worry about getting Dean out.”

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face in a gesture Castiel recognised as purely Dean, something he had always done when he was exasperated. “Castiel, you have no idea, none about what we’re going up against I can’t-”

“I’m going in there Sam, with or without you, you’re just wasting time arguing about it.”

With a heavy sigh, Sam slammed the trunk shut. “Fine...but when Dean gets mad about it, I’m telling him it was your idea.”

Castiel forced down the momentary elation that reared its head at the thought of Dean being alright enough to get angry on his behalf. He was fairly certain he wasn’t going to give Dean the chance to be angry about anything. If he was lucky Castiel might let him take a breath to attempt an explanation.

_ If _ he was lucky.

Sam led them up a fairly rickety walkway and shifted his weight against one of the upper doors, forcing it open with a loud, metallic screech. Castiel glanced at him with an arched eyebrow and Sam looked a little sheepish, he’d clearly thought avoiding the front door would give them the element of surprise. Despite the noise, there was nothing waiting to jump them on the other side of the door. Sam slipped in first, gesturing shortly afterwards for Castiel to follow, quietly, as though that would matter given the racket they’d already raised.

Castiel should have been watching where he was going, looking for the djinn, but he couldn’t look away from Sam. The way he moved around the walkways, slipping against the walls easily before he checked corners before gesturing Castiel forward. He wondered if this is what Dean did, moving with the kind of precision and grace he’d only seen in movies, holding the knife ahead of him, ready to strike.

“Do we know he’s even here?” Castiel murmured after they found another empty room.

Sam sighed, “This is where the car was and this is just the kind of place a djinn would hole up...” Sam paused for a moment, tapping Castiel’s shoulder reassuringly. “We’re gonna find him, okay? This isn’t the first time my idiot brother’s gotten into trouble.” He tried another door, “It might be the last when I’m finished with him though.”

Castiel gave a snort under his breath, “I quite understand the sentime-  _ Dean _ !”

The door had opened into what looked like an old production room with old and broken conveyor belts creating almost a maze across the floor. And in a corner, almost tucked away, was Dean. Strung up in chains with several almost medical looking tubes feeding into him, unconscious and bleeding in several places with injuries that could never have been explained away as conference high-spirits. Castiel practically shoved Sam aside in his haste to get to Dean. He was dimly aware of Sam calling out to him, but he only had eyes for Dean, which was probably how he didn’t see the djinn coming. The first he knew of it was when he was knocked to the ground, clearing several of the belts and crashing through a stack of several wooden pallets that cracked under his weight.

For a moment he couldn’t catch his breath and when he could every inch of him screamed in pain he hadn’t had cause to feel in years. And Dean did this every other week? Not that he had time to ponder it, the djinn had him now, pinned by the neck. Even as a tight grip constricted his neck, Castiel couldn’t help but be more intrigued by the hand before his face, seemingly summoning blue flame of some kind that matched the rune-like patterns on his skin. He was dimly aware of the realisation that even as the life squeezed out of him he was more interested in this proof before him that neither Sam or Dean had been mad. Monsters did exist. It was an intriguing thought, though hardly a comforting one.

The grip around his neck loosened as the djinn went rigid against him, a low snarl ripped from its throat. It released Castiel, turning its attention to Sam who was holding the knife in front of him, having already slashed at the djinn.

“Get Dean,” Sam barked as the monster went for him, but Castiel trusted Sam to take care of himself. He pulled himself up, groaning at the ache that seemed to hit him  _ everywhere _ . But he clambered over the wood, splintered by his own body and ignoring its protestations crossed the room to where Dean hung.

All thoughts Castiel might have had of holding anything against Dean were swiftly replaced by raw fear that he wouldn’t be okay. Almost of their own volition, his hands cupped Dean’s face and he shook him gently, “Dean? Dean?!”

But when Castiel’s grip softened, Dean’s head just lolled forward. It would be easy to give in to the panic that rose within him, especially with the sounds of a violent struggle so close behind him, but Castiel forced himself to take a deep breath and steady himself. Dean’s skin was cold but clammy under his touch and Castiel used his body to brace him so he could take his pulse. At the first slow pulse beneath his fingers, Castiel felt relief as he had never known flood through him. Dean was alive.

Everything else was semantics.

He started with the tubes, draining Dean or feeding him, he couldn’t tell, either way, he was sure it couldn’t be anything good. He gave them a sharp yank when they resisted and eventually they came free. Dean was bleeding where they left his skin, but not badly enough to warrant attention so Castiel turned his attention to the chains. They were sturdy, but not locked together in any particularly tricky fashion, they seemed more to hold Dean up than to keep him there. They were easily undone and Castiel stumbled as Dean slumped heavily against him.

“I’ve got you,” Castiel breathed, struggling to hold the unconscious weight of Dean up, but managing it more out of pure determination rather than strength. But then Sam was beside him, helping Castiel brace Dean across their shoulders. He was panting a little, but beyond that bore no signs of the fight he had just engaged in. When Castiel looked up he saw the djinn a few feet away, crumpled in an awkward position in the middle of the floor and somehow the sight of it like that was far more chilling than when it had been alive and trying to kill him.

“Is it-”

“Dead? Yeah. C’mon, let’s get him out of here.”

If Dean was in any way aware of what was happening, he gave no sign of it. Not until they got him back to the car and lay him down across the back seats. Castiel got in beside him and he swore he heard Dean mumble, “ _ Cas _ ?” under his breath, but he didn’t seem to have woken up at all. He didn’t stir again during the drive to find a motel, even though Castiel had insisted they take him to a hospital. It took a moment for him to realise that actually, Sam was right. What were they supposed to say to the nurse? 

_ “My friend here was attacked by a monster that’s had him tied up in an abandoned factory for days?” _

Upon further consideration, a hospital was a bad idea all around. Instead, they pulled into the parking lot of a motel that looked like it wouldn’t ask too many questions and Castiel waited with Dean while Sam checked them in.

In the stillness of the quiet car, Castiel turned to Dean whose head rested in his lap. For some reason, the memory of their first meeting seemed to be playing on repeat in Castiel’s mind. He could smell the coffee on the tray he’d carried, he remembered admiring how good the man at the corner table looked. The guy hadn’t looked up from the papers in his hands, though he had at least grunted a ‘thanks’ when Castiel put the mug down in front of him. Castiel hadn’t meant to look at the papers, he didn’t make a habit of reading his customer’s business, but something had caught his eye and before he could stop himself he’d said, “ _ Is that Enochian _ ?” The man’s head had snapped up to look at him, and if Castiel had thought he was attractive before well...he’d been wrong. Gorgeous. The man was gorgeous. Stunning. His green eyes practically sparkling as a smile crossed his lips. 

“_Y_ _ ou read Enochian _ ?”

Gently, hoping not to disturb any of his injuries, Castiel traced a finger along Dean’s jaw and whispered, “Dean? You have to be okay...I am so mad at you and you don’t get to die while I’m mad alright?”

Dean didn’t stir but neither did Castiel withdraw the hand that stroked his face. He couldn’t. He was mad, but it was almost funny how his anger had paled into a quiet, subdued thing in the face of an unconscious Dean. It surely couldn’t have been that very morning he’d been considering walking away. How could he have even thought such a thing?

Castiel flinched when the door opened suddenly beside him and Sam leaned in. “Alright, we’re in room four, it’s just over there, help me get him out.”

Thankfully, there was nobody around to wonder why the two of them were carrying a clearly unconscious man between them. Between them, they managed to manoeuvre Dean onto one of the beds and it seemed as soon as Dean was safe the exhaustion caught up with Sam and he practically collapsed onto the second bed.

“Get some rest, Sam,” Castiel said, kindly, as Sam tried to shake it off and raise himself back up.

“Not yet, Dean-”

“Isn’t going anywhere, I’ll watch over him.”

For a moment Sam looked as though he was going to argue the point, but after a moment of worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, he nodded. He let himself fall back against the pillows and muttered, “There’s a first aid kit in the car,” right before he closed his eyes and allowed himself to become dead to the world.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam had assured Castiel that Dean would be alright, and the fact that Sam wasn’t worried should have been a great comfort to him. It was not. Dean’s injuries were in no way serious, a quick wipe with antiseptic had seen to the worst of them and they were easily bandaged. From what the two of them could see there were no broken bones to contend with and the bruises would fade soon enough. But Dean hadn’t woken up yet. The most he’d done was stir a little, muttering under his breath words so quietly they might as well have been whispers. Occasionally he said something that sounded like, “ _ Cas _ ,” which Castiel took as a sign that he was at least aware of what was going on around him on some level, though Sam had given him a strange look when he’d voiced the thought aloud. Castiel was about to ask him what the look was for but Sam was already pulling his coat on.

“I’m heading out, I’ll be back soon. Keep an eye on him, yeah?”

Castiel rolled his eyes dramatically, as though he were going to leave Dean any time soon. But as the door closed behind Sam he realised that actually, that  _ had _ been his intent, getting into all this. Dean was safe, albeit unconscious. He could leave him with Sam and take his wounded heart elsewhere to recover. Of course, all of that had flown straight out of the window the moment Castiel saw Dean strung up the way he had been. He was still angry and maybe after they’d talked or shouted or whatever it was that they were going to do when Dean woke up, Dean wouldn’t want to be around Cas anyway. But, one thing was for sure, Castiel thought as he entwined their fingers, carefully avoiding the bruises on Dean’s fingers, Castiel wouldn’t be the one to leave.

Sam came back a few hours later, though Castiel knew he’d arrived before he came into the room. The roar of the Impala’s engine was distinctive enough, he wasn’t altogether surprised that Sam had managed to retrieve it. Nor was he surprised when Sam produced a bag of saline and jury-rigged a drip into Dean’s arm. At this point, he doubted anything the Winchesters could do would surprise him.

He was wrong.

Dean came around slowly, the IV drip obviously helping. At first, it was just a twitch, a shift of his weight as though he were trying to make himself more comfortable on the motel bed. His fingers flexed under Castiel’s touch, relaxing into his grip and Castiel felt relief flood through him so hard and fast he was almost dizzy with it. When Dean’s eyes finally fluttered open, Castiel wondered if he was having a coronary episode, for surely there was no other explanation for how rapidly his heart pounded. Dean blinked several times in quick succession, his expression blank for a moment as he no doubt struggled to place himself. But then his eyes focused and when he saw Cas, his face broke into a smile that could only be described as beatifying, absolving everyone who saw it and rejuvenating them. Or at least, that’s how it appeared to Castiel, who could only beam back at him, momentarily breathless.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, pushing himself up onto his elbows, seemingly unaware of the tube hanging from his arm. “Hey,” he grinned and then as casually as Dean had done anything in his life, he reached up and cupped Castiel’s face before he leaned in and kissed him. Somewhere in the distant, nebulous mess that was Castiel’s mind in that moment, the thought occurred to him that Dean’s lips were much softer than when they’d kissed under the mistletoe. Back then they’d been chapped by the winter air. Not that Castiel had the wherewithal to kiss him back right now. Not that Castiel could do anything beyond allowing himself to relax into the unexpected brush of lips. Dean drew back with a shy smile, “I had a great time last night,” he said with such sincerity that for a moment Castiel was caught off guard. “You looked incredible but...” Leaning in, Dean pressed their foreheads against each other and his voice broke a little on the laugh that rose within him, “mostly I’m just glad I don’t have to pretend I’m not totally gone on you, any more.”

It was a good thing that Sam jumped in at that point, clearing his throat and calling, “Dean,” which was handy because Castiel was fairly sure his brain had shut down entirely. Dean looked up and saw his brother, the joy on his face replaced with momentary confusion.

“Sam? The hell are you doing here?” He brought his hand away from Castiel’s face, the motion jolting the cannula in his arm and he stared at it for a moment. “What the hell?” His eyes tracked between Sam and Cas in open confusion, “What’s going on?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Sam asked, gently.

Dean looked at Castiel, his expression so soft, Castiel felt guilty for withdrawing his hand, trying to ignore the stab of confused hurt that flickered across Dean’s face at the gesture. “Cas and I went to the charity ball, thing. Got all dressed up and everything,” even though he wasn’t sure what was going on, Dean still managed a sly wink at Castiel which definitely didn’t make his stomach perform several flips that would rival the skill of an Olympic gymnast.

“Dean,” Sam sighed and Castiel didn’t need to be his brother to recognise the slight edge in his voice, “Dean that didn’t happen. A djinn’s had you tied up the best part of a week...”

“What? No...I killed the djinn and made it home in time for my date...” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, as though trying to remember something, “didn’t I?” He looked at Castiel and it was a measure of his distress that he hadn’t seemed to notice his brother talking openly about monsters in front of Castiel who as far as Dean knew, was completely innocent and ignorant of such things. “We went on the date right?”

Castiel would have given anything to have been able to tell him everything was as he remembered, hell he’d have given a fair bit for things to have  _ actually _ happened as Dean remembered, it sounded much nicer than the alternative. But he didn’t need to say anything to give Dean his answer, his hesitation was answer enough and Dean’s face fell. “Wait so...we didn’t...” He drew his knees up and rested his head against them, wincing against the pain in his ribs; Castiel knew they were among the worst of his bruises.

“But we-” Dean took a deep and ragged breath, steadying himself before he looked up at Sam. “How long?”

Sam exchanged a nervous glance with Castiel, who answered for him, “You left last Tuesday and I didn’t hear from you from Friday. It’s Wednesday now...” Dean didn’t look at him. “You uh...missed our date,” he added, quietly. Still, Dean didn’t look at him. Castiel looked up at Sam who looked as though he were about to say something, but he paused when he caught Castiel’s eye. Castiel gave him a look. They didn’t know each other nearly well enough to attempt non-verbal communication but Castiel tried anyway and after a few moments, Sam realised what it was he was trying to say.

“Hey, so I’m just gonna...go...get...food?” he said, hesitantly, his eyes never leaving Castiel’s just in case he’d misread the situation. He hadn’t and Castiel mouthed a ‘thank you’. Dean still hadn’t moved.

Sam seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to actually leave. In reality, all he had to do was toe his shoes on and grab his jacket, but the seconds seemed to stretch out beyond imagining. Every sound he made seemed louder in the dead silence of the room. Castiel tracked every motion Sam made, Dean didn’t look up, but the moment the door clicked shut behind him he jumped up from the bed with a finesse that didn’t suit a man who had just regained consciousness.

Castiel managed a scandalised gasp, “Dean?!”

The tube attached to the drip caught as Dean moved too far away from the bed and with a frustrated sigh, he ripped it from his arm.

“Dean! Dean, you need to-”

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean barked, shortly, even as he swayed a little either from effort or the pain he was probably in. “I’m just...I’m just gonna go, I’m sorry you got caught up in this.”

“Go?” Castiel glared at him, “Where are you going to go? Dean, you need to rest, it’s okay-”

“It’s not okay, Cas,” Dean snapped back, “None of this is okay. You weren’t meant to...you weren’t meant to find out like this.”

“Yes, granted of all the ways to have found out you weren’t actually a researcher into spiritual beings this is probably not the one I would have imagined. Not that I could have imagined it seeing as I only saw my first monster yesterday...” he trailed off when he realised Dean was looking at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“I...I actually wasn’t talking about the monster, wait- what do you mean you saw it?” Dean’s gaze snapped to the door that Sam had left through, “Sam took you with him?!”

“I didn’t give him a choice, but don’t change the subject,” Castiel rasped, “Sit down so we can talk.”

In hindsight, he should have known that the ‘t’ word would send Dean running. “Nothing to talk about, Cas. I’ll get out of your hair and you can chalk this up to one real messed up weekend.”

“Dean Smith!” Castiel shouted and Dean froze, possibly because he’d never heard Castiel raise his voice before. “I have had a  _ very _ bad week that only started getting better when you opened your eyes. You can barely stand up, you haven’t eaten in days and I’m pretty sure your left eye is so swollen you can’t actually see out of it. Now get back on the bed and talk to me!”

In the aftermath of his outburst, he was a little breathless and for a moment the two of them stared at each other, with only Castiel’s panting to break the silence. Eventually, after an eternity, Dean sighed. “You know that’s not my name, right?” He sounded so small, so hurt by the fact and the knowledge that this was a situation of his making that Castiel couldn’t help but cross the room to help him back to the bed.

“I know,” Castiel said, quietly, “Force of habit.”

A pained groan left Dean before he could stop it as he lowered himself onto the bed, but Castiel didn’t let go, supporting him until his head was back on the pillow. An awkward silence stretched between them.

“You don’t have to stay, Cas,” Dean said, suddenly, as though interrupting a conversation that had only been happening in his head. “This isn’t my first rodeo and Sam’s here now. You can head home.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “You know what a djinn does right? Sam told you that much?”

“Yes, it keeps you prisoner in a vision of your ideal reality. A dreamlike world or something...”

Whatever point Dean wanted Castiel to arrive at, he clearly wasn’t arriving at it fast enough, so he cut across him, “Cas I kissed you! I told you-” but at that point, his momentum ran out and he fell silent, his mouth moving to sentiments he couldn’t express.

“I don’t mind, I-  _ Oh _ ,” Castiel breathed. He realised now the implications of the two of them going on a date in Dean’s dream world, the way he’d kissed him when he’d woken up, what he’d said after doing it…

“You’re in love with me.” The simplicity of the statement was at odds with the profound effect the words had on both Dean and Castiel. Dean flushed bright red while Castiel could only look at him in wonder. Before Dean could lose whatever nerve was keeping him there Castiel reached out and took his hand in his own. “Dean...”

“It’s okay, Cas, you don’t have to-”

“Dean,” Castiel said, firmly, “Dean, why do you think I asked you on a date in the first place?”

Eventually, Dean managed to meet Castiel’s eye, Castiel almost laughed at how hesitant he looked. “It was because I was done pretending I wasn’t in love with you.”

When Dean could breathe again he let out a soft chuckle, but he didn’t draw away, instead, he gave Castiel’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I guess we’re not taking it slow, huh?”

Castiel smirked, but even as he did so he took his hand back so he could lightly tap Dean on the shoulder. “I’m so mad at you. I had every intention of taking off as soon as I knew you were alright.”

Under a tone which had sounded accusatory no matter how hard Castiel had tried otherwise, Dean stiffened a little. “But here you are.”

“Here I am,” Castiel said, quietly, his thumb stroking circles into Dean’s hand. “At first I thought maybe you just hadn’t wanted to go on a date with me after all,” he said with a slight huff; the thought seemed rather ludicrous in light of recent events. Dean scoffed too, but Castiel didn’t give him time to interrupt. “But then I thought that disappearing was a bit extreme, even for you. Then I went to the college that you  _ don’t _ work at,” he said, pointedly, his gaze firmly fixed on where he stroked Dean’s hand, “and then I met Sam and… I’m angry that you lied to me, I felt like I didn’t know you at all but then...then I saw you strung up in that factory. I realise that had you told me beforehand then I would have assumed you were crazy.” He sighed, heavily, “I understand why you didn’t tell me, I’m just mad that you’re not who I thought you were-”

“Hey,” Dean said, suddenly, “I don’t do what you thought I did, but you know me better than anyone, Cas. Seriously, I’m more myself with you than I am with anyone, Sam included. I’m still that guy.”

“You have a criminal record, Dean.”

Dean drew his hand away, suddenly, his face blank. “Oh...” he edged himself towards the edge of the bed, “I get it, sorry, I should have known you wouldn’t be interested in-”

“Dean,” Castiel hissed, dragging his hand back, “Let me finish. I’m just saying that I want to know  _ you _ . All of you. I love you and I’m devastated that you’ve been out risking your life and falling afoul of the law and I had no idea. You could have died, Dean, and I would never have known any of it.”

That gave Dean pause and he shifted across the bed towards Castiel.

“I’ll tell you everything, Cas,” he breathed, “I promise I will. People like me we...we don’t get happily ever afters. We don’t have friends and we don’t settle down. We’re usually dead before that can happen and to be honest I’ve never met anyone who made me want to take the risk. But, then I met you.” A small smile spread across Dean’s lips and his injuries seemed to fade because of it. “I’m willing to try for you, Cas. I’m sorry I never told you.”

“I understand why you didn’t and while I can’t promise I’m not going to be mad for a while and it won’t show on occasion, honestly,” Castiel leaned in to cup Dean’s face, “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Their attention was caught by a shuffling at the door and with a sigh Dean called, “You might as well come in, Sam.”

The door creaked a little and Sam’s head appeared in the crack, “You guys okay?” Dean rolled his eyes and waved him in. “I’d have stayed away longer but,” he held up a brown bag from a local diner, “You need to eat, Dean.”

Dean and Castiel exchanged a look, as though one or both of them might argue the point, but then the distinct and delicious smell of burgers reached them and there was no disguising the sound that might have been a roar from Dean’s stomach. In the end they settled for sitting beside each other on the bed, their shoulders touching as though they couldn’t allow themselves to be parted, not even for a moment, not until they’d sorted  _ this _ , whatever this was, out. Sam kept glancing at them, catching them brushing their fingers against each other as they reached for their food, or settling against each other just so they could feel the other. At one point Castiel caught Sam’s eye and flushed a little red, but Sam just gave him a reassuring smile and then Dean leaned over to wipe a smear of relish from Castiel’s cheek and he forgot about Sam altogether.


	7. Chapter 7

After they’d eaten, Sam rolled the packaging around his food into a ball and threw it cleanly into the wastepaper bin. “You feeling better?” he asked Dean, who swallowed his mouthful and nodded. “Good,” Sam grinned, right before he landed a fairly harsh fist across Dean’s face. Dean’s head cracked viciously to the side, a mouthful of half-chewed meat spitting across the room before he turned angrily to his brother, “What the hell was that?”

“That was for running off and not checking in. I didn’t know where you were, Dean and if it wasn’t for Cas I wouldn’t have found you.”

Dean massaged the spot where the blow had landed, glaring at his brother with a look that could probably have killed several lesser demons on its own. Carefully, Castiel put the remains of his food aside, waiting for the inevitable moment when the two started brawling. But instead, Dean just sighed.

“I know. Sorry, Sammy.”

Sam looked as surprised as Castiel did at Dean’s admission. It was clear he’d been ready to argue the point and for a moment he wasn’t quite sure what to say in response. “Oh...well...good. Don’t do it again. Even if you think it’s a milk run.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “It was one djinn-” but he broke off when Sam fixed him with the bitch face to end all bitch faces. “Alright,” he held his hands up defensively, “Alright.”

“Good,” Sam huffed, grabbing his wallet and whatever else he had stashed around the place, “I’m gonna head off, I’ll let Bobby know you’re not dead.”

“You’re leaving?” Castiel asked, momentarily afraid to have lost the buffer between him and Dean. But then Dean gave him a sly grin while Sam wasn’t looking and he wasn’t so bothered anymore.

“It was nice meeting you, Cas,” Sam said. Castiel rose, assuming they were going to hug, only to have an awkward moment where Sam ducked away from it and shook his hand instead. Dean tried to disguise his laugh behind his hand as a cough, but Castiel saw right through it and rolled his eyes at him.

Even though he’d hit him just a few moments before, Sam still patted his brother’s shoulder reassuringly. He leaned in to say something to Dean under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like, “Don’t mess this up,” but Castiel couldn’t be sure. At any rate, he wasn’t about to press Dean on it, even after Sam had left and the room had fallen suspiciously quiet.

It was strange for the two of them to find themselves awkward given everything they had been through, not just in the last few days but in the whole time they had known each other. Neither of them would have considered themselves shy around the other, but now everything was coy glances, quickly looking away when they caught the other looking. At least, until Dean gave something between a lie and a sigh and tapped the side of the bed he wasn’t sitting on, “C’mere, Cas.”

Castiel only hesitated for a moment before he went willingly, sliding onto the bed and resting against Dean’s chest, Dean’s arm coming around him as naturally as it ever had. But this was different, warmer somehow and when Castiel glanced up to look at Dean, he could see in Dean’s eyes that he felt it too.

“This is nice,” Dean mumbled somewhere beside Castiel’s ear and Castiel leaned into the touch.

“It is.”

Dean nuzzled him for a moment longer before he sighed. “I’m sorry I missed our date, Cas.”

Cas looked up with half a smile and gave him a small kiss on the lips, chaste, barely anything, but it was enough to have Dean beaming at him as though he’d hung the moon.

“I am still mad at you,” Castiel said, unconvincingly, “But I’m mostly just glad you’re alright. Besides, it sounds like our date went just fine for you.”

Dean laughed, pulling Castiel closer to him if such a thing were possible.

“Tell me about it,” Castiel said, suddenly.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, tell me about your dream date,” he said, a little smugly knowing he could say those words completely within context.

“Alright,” Dean said, adjusting himself to get comfortable. “So I picked you up, obviously, even in my worst nightmares I wouldn’t be seen dead in that pimp-mobile of yours.” Castiel nudged him playfully but didn’t interrupt. “We drove over there...”

“Wait, wait, what were we wearing?”

“Seriously, Cas?”

Castiel rolled his eyes, “It was a masquerade ball, Dean, what were we wearing?”

“Oh yeah. Good point. I had my tuxedo...”

“I imagine I really liked you in that tuxedo,” Castiel murmured against Dean’s neck, enjoying the sudden hiss Dean made at the contact.

“I had this black eye mask, kinda like Robin or Nightwing, but it had this silver thread around it...” he trailed off a little, “It was pretty cool, actually, and you had a Phantom of the Opera thing going on. You know, a mask on half your face like the guy-”

“Erik.”

“Huh?”

“The Phantom’s name was Erik,” Castiel said, patiently and Dean beamed at him.

“You’re so smart,” he grinned, “So yeah, you were wearing that and that suit you wore to Charlie’s thing that time. The navy one, the one that...you know...brings out your eyes,” Dean added with a shy smile, his cheeks flushing. “And we got there and I wouldn’t let the valet park so it took us a little longer to get there, but you didn’t mind the walk. It was a little chilly though, so you tucked your arm in mine...”

“Like this?” Castiel asked, hooking his arm into the crook of Dean’s, leaning against him, smiling up at him so he wouldn’t feel self-conscious.

Dean swallowed, “Yeah...yeah, like that. When we got to the hall, you said how beautiful it looked and I-” he blushed, hard, but Castiel nudged him on, encouragingly, “I said it was nothing compared to you.”

In hindsight, if Castiel had wanted to stay mad, he should not have engaged in this conversation. How could he be annoyed, irate or anything less than overjoyed at how beautifully Dean flushed, looking away, thoroughly embarrassed, even though he’d said something so lovely.

“You said that you could say the same about me,” Dean rasped, right before he scrubbed a hand over his face, “Hey, y’know, this was a bad idea-”

“I disagree,” Castiel said, firmly, “I’m sure you looked breathtaking. Continue.”

“Well, we got some drinks, they had this fruity cocktail thing that you loved. It came with a sparkler, but you said it tasted great anyway. I had a beer,” he added, as an afterthought, “but you didn’t hold it against me. We had a look around the place, they had this silent auction thing where people could bid on stuff. There wasn’t anything interesting, but seeing as it was for charity you said we should give something and we ended up winning afternoon tea at that fancy resort outside of town.”

There was a faint grumble in Dean’s voice, and in it Castiel could hear how annoyed Dean had been to have won something like that. It made him laugh, on the inside at least seeing as he didn’t want to derail Dean’s story, to imagine the two of them arguing over it. Dean was right though, Castiel would absolutely have insisted on bidding on something in support of the charity. Even if it was something neither of them would usually go for.

“Then we had a couple more drinks, we chatted and I asked you if you’d like to dance...” Dean smirked at the memory or the illusion of the memory at least, “and you said that you’d love to, though you’d understand if I never wanted to see you again after you embarrassed me so hard on the floor. But, actually, you danced like an angel...”

Castiel couldn’t stifle his laugh, “Really? And you didn’t think at that point you were dreaming?”

“Should have given it away, huh?” Dean chuckled. “We ended up slow dancing to one of those crappy love songs you love so much.”

“Music from this decade isn’t  _ all _ crappy, Dean,” Cas sighed with an exaggerated eye roll. It was an old argument, almost as old as their friendship.

“Well anyway, the song sucked but you liked it and we danced. And uh...we...well...”

Dean squirmed where he sat, a definite tinge of red flushing his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“What?”

Unable to look Castiel in the eye, Dean shifted away a little, even though they were still linked at the arms.

Castiel wouldn’t let him go. “Tell me.”

“I told you how happy I was that you’d asked me out and...and...well...you kissed me.”

Dean completely missed Castiel’s wicked smile. It was easily done, it had after all only appeared for a moment and then it was gone. “Like this?” he asked, innocently, leaning up and placing a chaste kiss against Dean’s cheek.

When Dean glanced down at him the confusion in his eyes was only visible for a second before he caught on fairly quickly to what Castiel was doing.

“No,” Dean said, his voice a little breathier than Castiel was used to. “Not like that.”

“Like this?” Castiel ran his lips along the line of Dean’s jaw with small barely-there presses against his skin. It had the intended effect. The groan that escaped Dean’s lips was somewhere between desire and frustration, edging towards frustration, as he closed his eyes and thumped his head against the wall behind them. The wicked smile returned as Cas arched upwards, allowing his breath to skim over the shell of Dean’s ear, “...or this?”

“ _ Cas _ ...” Dean breathed.

Castiel felt a warm glow of triumph spread through him and he allowed his fingertips to dance along the side of Dean’s face. “How did I kiss you, Dean?”

“Lips...” Dean stuttered, “...Mouth...you kissed me-”

“Oh of course,” Castiel said, milking the faux innocence in his voice for all he was worth, “How silly of me.” He rearranged himself so that he was facing Dean and then he leaned in. Dean’s eyes fluttered closed and he parted his lips in anticipation. He practically snarled when Castiel gave a perfunctory press of lips, hardly worthy of being called a kiss at all. “Like that,” he announced, smugly, revelling in the way that Dean’s eyes snapped open and glared at him, all heat and fire.

“Cas...” he warned and Castiel knew that he’d pushed Dean as far as he could in terms of getting him to talk, he’d gotten further than he’d thought given how closed off Dean usually was to such things.

“Or,” he said, leaning into Dean’s ear again, “Did I kiss you like I meant it? To show you how grateful I am that you gave us a chance to be more than just friends? Did I kiss you the way I’ve been dreaming about kissing you for months?”

Dean could only give a weak groan in the affirmative, but it was enough for Castiel to finally kiss him the way he wanted him to. Though ‘kiss’ did not adequately describe the way Castiel plundered Dean’s lips, licking his way past the seam of them until he could taste him. One hand came up to cup Dean’s cheek, altering the angle so he could deepen the kiss, revelling in every whimpered moan he stole from Dean’s lips.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean breathed when they finally broke apart an age later. “I thought you were mad at me.”

Castiel trailed smaller kisses along his jaw, “I am. But I’m also in love with you, glad you’re okay and a little jealous that you got to have the date I missed.”

He leaned in to kiss Dean senseless again, but Dean pulled away, “Hey...say that again.”

“Say what again?”

“The bit where you said you loved me.”

Castiel beamed at him, “I love you, Dean Sm-” he caught himself and with only a hint of a sigh tried again. “I love you, Dean Winchester.”

“I love you too, Cas, I have for a long, long time and if you’ll let me, I promise I’ll make all of this monster hunting, secret identity bullshit up to you.”

“Good.”

“In fact,” Dean grinned, pushing Castiel onto the mattress and half covering him with his body so he couldn’t protest, “I could start right now and show you what we did after we got tired of dancing.”

“I’d like that,” Castiel murmured, opening his mouth to Dean’s kisses and letting him show him exactly how they ended their date. Several times. And once more in the morning. And then again in the shower. By the time they slipped into Baby, Castiel’s hand reaching Dean’s somewhere in the middle of the seat, Castiel couldn’t remember how he could ever have been mad when he had surely never been so happy.


End file.
